


The Radiant

by Quixcy



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Atem get his own body, Lots of kissing, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, One-Shot, SUPER SMUTTY, and other things, lots of banter, pun intended?, smut smut get yer smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quixcy/pseuds/Quixcy
Summary: Atem never stayed. He came into Yuugi's life, and left, and returned again--but he never stayed. And then the story ended, and he was gone. Gone like the last rays of sunlight before night. Gone, like a fire snuffed into ashes. Just gone.This time, Yuugi feared, for good.(Post-DSoD)





	The Radiant

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short drabble post-Dark Side Dimensions. It's um, pretty standard one-shot smut. ENJOY!

Yuugi knew this place.

He knew the sandstone beneath his feet and the stairs upon stairs, arches built upon doors upon walkways, all hanging upside down or right side up or left side wrong. It was an intricate interwoven maze that, to him, always seemed to reflect questions that could never be answered—doors that dropped off into blackness, or no doors at all.

But…he never expected to be back here.

The questions had been answered, after all, and one by one the stairs had disappeared, trapdoors vanishing until…

Well, until the end.

It wasn’t _really_ the end—although he was so _sure_. When he placed that final puzzle piece in, he was sure Atem wouldn’t return. Why would he? What was the _point_ of coming back? He wasn’t needed anymore. Yuugi could do things himself now. He had the courage to, the drive, the ambition—

He did not need the pharaoh, so why did Atem come back?

Well, besides to save them all, _again_ , from otherworldly destruction—and this time he took the puzzle with him. He said goodbye and vanished.

_Again_.

Yuugi still remembered the lingering note of Atem’s voice in his head, the soft timbre, echoing, echoing, long after he had disappeared in a blinding flare of light.

Because Atem was not needed anymore.

There was no point for him to exist in this world—finally. Except…

Yuugi fisted his hands, steeling his shoulders. He screwed his eyes closed, hoping that when he opened them again he’d be back in his room, back in Domino, back in the real world without magic or pharaohs or spirits of puzzles. Back in a world where all he heard was the echoing of a voice he was never sure he’d hear again.

It didn’t matter if he _needed_ the pharaoh—that was never the right question to ask, anyway.

He did not _need_ Atem.

But oh, with every bone in his body, every molecule, every breath and heartbeat and sleepless night with only him and his hand—he _wanted_ Atem. The thought made him blush, but it was true, wasn’t it? He wanted Atem in the way Anzu wanted _him_ , in the way Jou wanted Mai, the way Honda wanted Shizuka—

And he hated how selfish that made him, and how selfish that made Atem, too. After all this time—after all these _years_ , existing together, Atem didn’t want to stay in the end?

Atem didn’t want to stay with…with _him_?

Biting his lip to not cry, he wished this dream away. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to wake up, out of this labyrinth of despair. He wanted to roll out of bed, and go about life, always with this empty chamber in the middle of his chest, not distinctly puzzle-shaped but shaped the way two hands intertwined might feel, or breath on his skin, or a brush of lips against his neck—

Footsteps, light and slow, caught his ear.

He looked up, up along the stone steps crisscrossing and intertwining, and for the first time in months, since the duel with Deva, his heart kicked.

But there was no one there.

“ _Aibou_ ,” said a voice behind him, deep and solemn—and tender.

His terrible, aching heart leaped into his chest. He spun around, stumbling.

And…and there he was. Standing in the doorway as though he’d always been there—as if _he_ had been the one waiting all these years.

Yuugi stared. He wasn’t sure what else he could do. This was a dream, it had to be.

“Ah…Atem?” he asked, his voice wobbly. Then he looked back around at the soul chamber, the stairs upon stairs upon questions unanswered. “Is…is this—this _real_?”

The pharaoh cut his eyes away for a moment, blinking, deciding what to say, how to choose his words. He never said anything he didn’t mean. His words were carefully chosen, carefully placed, like pieces of a puzzle.

A string of longing tugged inside of Yuugi. He missed that. He missed the silent calculations that seemed to spread for minutes, but were only moments long…

But it was taking longer than Yuugi remembered for Atem to find the right words.

And that lit a flare of anger in Yuugi. “Get out,” he found himself saying.

Atem snapped his eyes back to his. “ _Aibou_ —”

“I said _get out_ ,” Yuugi repeated, his nails biting into his palms, hands fisted so hard they were trembling.

But the pharaoh’s eyebrows furrowed, his face fracturing in confusion.

_Not the reception you thought you’d get?_ Yuugi wanted to ask, but he was afraid he wouldn’t form the right words, either. He was too angry, too upset, because he had both longed to see this room again and convinced himself he never again would.

And how dare Atem, how _dare he,_ play with him like this.

“But—” Atem began to say, but Yuugi lurched forward and shoved him. Hard.

They were both the same height now, and oh Atem did look different from this new perspective. Not quite as grand as he remembered, not quite as all-powerful. But just a boy—just a boy who had been given an impossible burden, and who left.

“Why—why are you _angry_? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Atem asked, perplexed, catching his footing as he stumbled back.

“ _Happy_?” Yuugi wanted to laugh. “You _left_ me!”

“You didn’t need me anymore. You were fine on your own.”

“Oh, you’re right! I didn’t need you. None of us needed you—and so you left! You left and I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. Who gave you the permission to come into someone’s life, and make it exponentially better, and then just leave? Disappear as though you wouldn’t leave a space behind!”

Atem’s eyebrows jerked up. His mouth fell open. “I… _aibou_ …”

“You’re right! We _don’t_ need you!” There were tears in his eyes now—great. He didn’t want to cry in front of the pharaoh, but he couldn’t stop them. He was angry, and he cried when he was angry. “But just because we didn’t need you didn’t mean we didn’t want you. We did. We wanted you here. We wanted… _I_ wanted…”

Atem’s eyes were wide now, his eyebrows high.

Oh, oh Yuugi had really made a fool out of himself now. He’d said too much. He’d said things he never should have. He swallowed thickly and said, “Please, leave.”

But the violet-eyed boy stood as still as stone. “Is…is that what you want?”

Yes. No.

It was so much more complicated than that. “I wanted you to be happy,” he began, faltering, “but I…I never wanted you to go, either.”

“Never wanted…” Atem repeated, and blinked again, processing the words. “Aibou, do you—”

Before the boy-king could complete his sentence, Yuugi reached out with the brashness he’d learned over the years, the boldness, the confidence he’d learned in this very room, and took him by the face, and pulled him close. Their lips met, hard, crushing, with all the anger Yuugi had, melting against lips that didn’t fade, didn’t disappear.

He did not wake up as he did in every other dream.

_He’s real._ The thought struck him like lightning. He broke away from the kiss with a gasp, reeling away to look at Atem, truly look at him. At the golden earcuffs he hadn’t noticed before, and the exquisite choker, and the desert-brown skin—

Oh, Ra, what had he _done_?

“I—I didn’t—I thought—” Yuugi stumbled, a blush rising against his cheeks. “I didn’t think—”

“Then don’t,” replied Atem, cutting him off, and kissed him again.

Yuugi was too shocked at first to return it. Because here was Atem, real, whole, _here_ , kissing him. And he tasted like spices and sunlight and things Yuugi had only dreamed of. Atem cradled Yuugi’s face, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, his other hand sliding around his waist to bring him closer, and Yuugi let him. Gladly, wholeheartedly, melting into the kiss like ice on hot pavement.

“I’m sorry,” he felt more than heard Atem say against his lips. “I’m so, so sorry, aibou.”

Yuugi pressed their foreheads together, breathless, breathing in the scent of him—and then he felt Atem growing hard against him, and it made the great pharaoh look away, redness creeping across his cheeks.

Atem cleared his throat. “I, uhm, I…”

“Can you use it?” Yuugi found himself asking coyly, surprising even himself. _Where did that come from?_

Atem looked back, wide-eyed. “Of course.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s not a matter up for debate.”

But that just made Yuugi smirk. “You could show me.”

It was a challenge. Atem never backed away from a challenge.

He nibbled at Yuugi’s neck. “It would be an intense process. Arduous, even. It’s a long demonstration.”

“I’m patient,” Yuugi replied, pressing his hip against Atem’s bulge, making his partner groan, “but _you_ never are.”

“That’s not fair,” Atem growled.

“It’s not? Oh, I must not have read that in the rulebook—”

But then Atem shoved him against a sandstone wall, eyes flashing dangerously, but just as Yuugi thought he’d collide with the wall, he slipped through.

Through and through and—

And he fell. Down into the darkness, past the floor—

He was back in his room, above the gameshop. Alone in the house while his mother and grandfather went to fetch the evening groceries. He breathed out a hard sigh, trying to think of something—anything—to keep his boner at bay.

It was just a dream after all.

He scrubbed his face, turning around—

When Atem’s lips caught his and forced him backwards, stumbling, fumbling, to the desk, where he pushed Yuugi onto it, long fingers weaving against the leather buckle of Yuugi’s belt as if he’d done it a thousand times.

Hadn’t he, when they owned the same body?

But now Atem was touching Yuugi’s body, undoing the buttons on his pants, slipping those nimble fingers down, down, until they found their target. Yuugi gasped against Atem’s lips, and Atem grinned.

“I thought you should start living outside of your head, aibou, and I can certainly do more than you give me credit for,” said the pharaoh. “I remember your body. I remember the curves, the edges…” With each word, his fingers found purchase, and all Yuugi could to do to not lose his mind was to think of—of duel monsters. Any sort of duel monsters. Trap cards and magic and— _oh_.

Atem pressed his lips against Yuugi’s neck, and stroked him, and he about lost his damn _mind_.

“I remember how things felt, what they felt like. I remember—”

Yuugi grabbed his hands, his nimble fingers, and pulled them away, even though it pained him. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay in this waking dream, but he was afraid of when it ended. “Then why didn’t you stay?”

“Aibou…”

“No.” He was pained to say it. He didn’t want to. But he didn’t want his heart to crumble again when Atem left. And then came back—and left again. And again. Yuugi was not the boy who lamented that he never got the chance to say goodbye. He refused to be an NPC in his own game of life. He was the main character.

“No, you can’t call me that— _aibou_. I’m not your _partner_. I will never be again. You left. You left _me_. Why didn’t you stay? Wasn’t I enough? What could I’ve done? What could’ve…” his voice wavered. “What could I’ve done to make you stay?”

He pursed his lips together, eyes narrowing. “You beat me in a duel, Yuugi. I have no place here.”

“Because of a _duel_? Because I won a _fucking_ —”

“Because if you would have wanted me to stay you would’ve _lost_!” he snapped, and then realized what he had said, and downturned his eyes. “You would’ve lost if you wanted me to stay,” he repeated with no less conviction.

Yuugi’s eyes widened. “You wanted me to throw the duel?”

“I wanted to mean more than winning.”

“Did I?” But as soon as he said it, he realized that Atem had done just that. He had thrown the duel. “But… you’d always told me to fight to the end! So I fought to the end—to the very _end_. I thought you lost because you wanted to leave.” Now he was crying again, this time in earnest. This time because he was thinking of all the years wasted, all of the days spent thinking Atem didn’t want to be with him—when at the same time Atem thought the same? “I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to stay and never leave.”

“Because you want me?”

“Because I _love_ you,” he said, and the words felt like starlight on his tongue. Like good memories and golden sand dunes and eternity against the stars. “You’re my partner. My other self. I’m lost without you, like I keep searching for someone in a crowd even though I know I’ll never find them. Because it’s you I’m always looking for. And I…I’m afraid I’ll never find you. I love you.”

Atem leaned in again, tenderly this time, and pressed their foreheads together again. “I love you, too, _aibou_.”

And Yuugi relished in the words, the hum of them, the promise. And he smiled at those words, kissing his cheek. “Then will you stay?”

In response, he looked down at the puzzle hanging from his neck, hesitant, before he touched the eye and the necklace burst into golden light. There was a shimmer—brief, fleeting, golden like sunlight—across Atem before the world shifted. Just slightly, just enough to make room for another soul, lacing it into the dimension as though welcoming home an old friend. Yuugi felt it, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, a thousand memories coming together, crashing, changing, rewriting.

Yuugi’s eyebrows jerked up. “University? For—for Egyptology? _Really_?”

“Or I could be a poet,” he said, jokingly, “and I can start perfecting my tongue twisters on you.”

A laugh bubbled up from Yuugi’s throat, and he kissed his pharaoh again on the lips, savoring it, his heart pounding so brightly it could rival the glow of the sun.

 


End file.
